Red wine and everything after
by Afterglow04
Summary: He'd hoped that because she despised psychiatrists, she might've turned to a friend. And perhaps somewhat foolishly, he had wanted to be the one she would turn to. Jane/Lisbon one-shot, post 2x08.


**Red wine and everything after**

**A/N**: In my head, this takes place somewhere right before episode 2x16 Code Red, at the beginning of which Jane tells Lisbon to cheer up. It was a cute enough little Jello scene, but I had still been hoping for something more, especially given the events that followed in that episode. I felt we should've been given a scene that dealt with at least some of the unspoken issues. So this might be slightly OOC, since let's face it, we'll never actually get this on the show. Oh, and I know the title of this story might imply something more happening between them, but there's no romance this time. Well, maybe a little :p

A huge thank you to **Autumn**, for doing a great job editing this, and for her much appreciated feedback!

Disclaimer : I don't own anything even remotely related to The Mentalist. Or the lyrics. Those belong to Backstreet Boys. (Uuh yea, I have a _very_ eclectic taste in music :p)

Spoilers : 2x03 Red Badge and 2x08 His Red Right Hand

_-xxx-_

_The light that followed you around_

_Lately nowhere to be found_

The elevator pinged loudly, creating the only sound on the quiet floor of the Serious Crimes Unit. Patrick Jane stepped out holding two carrier bags and a bottle of wine, veering to the right where light was still pouring out of Lisbon's office. His stomach growled, and he checked his watch to find that it was almost 9pm. As expected, she hadn't left the otherwise deserted building and he gently tapped her open door.

She looked up, surprised at the sight of him casually leaning in her doorway. "I thought you left half an hour ago."

"I did, but I came back."

He walked in, putting the two bags on her desk, set on making himself comfortable in the chair opposite hers.

"Why?" There seemed to be genuine surprise in her voice, as if she couldn't possibly fathom why he'd stick around on a Friday night.

He vaguely gestured to her, the bags and the bottle of red wine in his right hand. "Evidently, because I thought dinner would do you some good. How long has it been since you've had a decent meal?"

"This is take-away food," she replied sceptically.

"I'll take that as a thank you." She rolled her eyes at his retort. "At least it's better than not eating anything at all, now isn't it?"

He started unpacking the various cartons of Chinese food, noticing out of the corner of his eye that she was peaking into several of them curiously, causing him to smile. Hunger always trumped annoyance in the end.

Although lately, she'd been far less annoyed with him than he was used to. These past few weeks, her entire demeanour simply suggested indifference. Indifference for everyone and everything except whatever case they were working on; that always got her full attention. She'd never been one to let anything influence her work. However, aside from that, there was barely anything lively about her. No frustration, no reprimanding, no scolding, no fire...and he realised it had upset him more than he'd expected to see her like this. He missed his old Lisbon.

Therefore, he figured enough time had passed where he'd left things alone, and he was determined to do this one thing right. Or at least try to do just that, since this was Lisbon after all. There was no telling how she'd react upon learning what his actual purpose for bribing her with dinner was. Getting her to talk would not be the easiest thing he'd ever done, especially since there were certain subjects they generally avoided talking about. Instead, they chose to tiptoe around them because they seemed off-limits, which was as much his doing as it was hers.

He handed her the bottle of wine, heading for the break room to gather up a couple of glasses.

"Fancy," she said evenly upon his return, waving the bottle at him.

"Fancy is an understatement, my dear Lisbon. This is a 2002 Merlot that exhibits an aroma of ripe red berries and soft plummy flavours with just a hint of French oak. I think you'll find it's an extraordinarily seductive, soft and voluptuous wine with a velvety texture."

He stood in front of her, reciting it like a true sommelier would, causing her to smile and shake her head slightly. She was convinced he could probably show off about anything if he put his mind to it.

"A seductive and voluptuous wine? And here I was thinking you'd never seduce me over a meal," she teased.

"Oh, trust me. If I were to seduce you, we'd be having a whole different conversation," he countered.

"Honestly Jane, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to get me drunk."

He just offered up a grin, handing her the bottle opener without further comment. Whatever the explanation, Lisbon did enjoy a good glass of red wine on occasion and although she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting it, she'd been starving.

"So why are you really here?" She fiddled with her chopsticks, trying to prevent a piece of sweet 'n sour chicken from falling in her lap.

"To play 20 questions."

He took a sip of wine, carefully studying her over the rim of his glass. She sighed and glanced away, having probably decided that getting a decent answer out of him was near impossible. However, he'd been telling the truth. At least, his intention was to play a self-invented version of the game.

Despite her trying to keep up appearances, she hadn't been okay lately. Jane figured there had to be a few things she needed to get off her chest, but he also knew Lisbon. In a way, they were incredibly alike when dealing with emotions and bottling things up. He'd hoped that because she despised psychiatrists, she might've turned to a friend and perhaps somewhat foolishly, he had wanted to be the one she would turn to.

The fact that she hadn't come to him of her own volition stung a little. He knew she was a private person, maybe a bit too closed off at times, but he considered them to be friends. Good friends. And he was set on making it clear that she could always talk to him, that he'd be there for her. Usually, it was always her running off to get him out of some trouble or other, without receiving much gratitude in return, he realised. He figured he owed her this much. It wouldn't be effortless, surely, but he would make the first move in this matter. It was long overdue.

"So, can I ask you a question?" He made sure his tone was casual, light-hearted, yet the suspicious glare in her eyes hadn't faded.

"If I say no, will it make a difference?"

"No."

"Then why do you even ask?" she asked, exasperation ever-so-clear in her voice.

"Well, I wanted to be friendly, give you the impression you had the choice. But really, if you won't allow me to ask anything it kind of defeats the whole purpose of the game."

"I never said I wanted to play," she countered.

He smirked at her facial expression, seeing the frown line appear that always graced her forehead when her stubborn side took over. It was a good thing she was fighting him on this; it meant she'd probably figured out he wasn't there to discuss today's weather or the current case that still needed solving. And really, anything was better than apathetic Lisbon.

Maybe, he decided, the best method of approach would be to just dive right in.

"Ever since Sam died, you've been spending all of your Friday nights here, staying until God knows how late. You didn't before. Why?"

He didn't miss her flinching at the mere mention of Bosco's name, confirming exactly what had been troubling the uncharacteristically quiet brunette sitting before him. His voice was calm and peaceful, trying to convey that it wasn't his intention to attack her or make her close up even more. He knew her defence mechanism was anger, so he was half preparing himself for a confrontation of some sort.

However, she surprised him by remaining quiet for a moment, moving on to the carton of chicken fried rice, obviously debating whether to engage in this conversation or keep playing stubborn. After a few minutes, he saw her eyes dull down a bit and knew she'd come to the conclusion that it would be of no use. He was used to getting his way, and he probably wouldn't let this go.

"Not _all_ of my Friday nights," she said defensively.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine, 90% of them. We won't count that one night you only stayed until 9.30 and _then_ left. The other seven nights have shown the same pattern though."

The fact that he had been keeping track of her weekend nights so closely didn't immediately register. She took a deep breath, unable to come to terms with the fact that it had been exactly eight weeks since Sam had died. To her, it still felt like only yesterday she'd walked into that office, caught off guard and completely unprepared to find... A shiver ran down her spine as she pushed the unwelcome image away, ridding herself of the bad memories.

"I do have a social life, you know," she protested.

"I'm not claiming otherwise."

"You're annoying."

"Is it going to be this hard for you to answer every one of my questions? 'Cause I gotta warn you, we might be here a while if that's the case."

The stern look didn't dissipate, but he wasn't impressed.

"I'm fine, Jane. I'll go home in like 15 minutes or so, alright?" She pinched the bridge of her nose before crossing her arms in front of her chest, defiantly staring back at him, letting him know he was making her life unnecessarily difficult.

He swiftly stood up and walked over to her side, putting the bottle of red wine aside to sit down on the edge of her desk. She blinked at his sudden proximity, trying to inconspicuously roll her chair a bit further away at the same time.

"Really, you're fine? That's all you've got? 'I'm fine, Jane'?" he mimicked her. "You're going to have to be a bit more convincing. See, the fact of the matter is, Lisbon, that I don't think you're fine." He looked into her eyes, willing her not to glance away. "Tell me, if I open that bottom drawer behind my leg, what will I find?"

Her eyes involuntarily dropped to the drawer in question before she quickly averted her gaze, picking up the pen lying in front of her.

Click, click, click, click.

He knew the bottle hidden away there only served to remind her of Sam, of the tradition they'd had, the moments they'd spent together. He'd also caught her pulling open that drawer to simply stare at it for awhile or try to force away the guilt she felt, when she thought no one was paying attention.

But he was always paying attention, especially where she was concerned.

He didn't push her on this subject, knowing full well it needed to spill out because she wanted to talk about it, not just because he forced her to. Still, he figured a little coercion never hurt anyone.

He put a hand on her shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. She blinked a few times in rapid succession.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," he said barely over a whisper.

And he was. If he could have saved her the agony of losing someone she cared about to Red John, he would have done so in a heartbeat. The guilt and remorse that rose inside him were inevitable, but he pushed those feelings aside hurriedly for her benefit.

Even though he might never know exactly what her relationship with her former mentor had been, it was obvious she had cared deeply for the older agent. His understanding blue eyes stared into her green ones, hoping to offer some form of comfort.

"Are you trying to hypnotize me?" Her wary voice broke the silence, indicating that her guard was definitely still in place.

He groaned and released her shoulder, walking back to his chair.

"Please woman, not every serious or intent look I give you means I'm putting you into a trance. I would never hypnotize you against your will. Also, your deflecting is incredibly transparent. You're a cop, so naturally you're familiar with the best techniques, but please don't insult me by using them on me. I'd prefer if you just answered the question."

"You're impossible."

"You're deflecting...," he repeated in a sing-song voice, causing her to purse her lips into that endearing pout.

"Oh fine." There was a slight pause followed by more pen clicking. "If you must know, the more time I spend here, the less time I'm at home," she admitted.

She ran a hand through her hair, choosing her next words carefully.

"It's just– I'm usually alone and whether I'm watching TV, reading a book or flicking through a magazine...my mind just always seems to wander off at some point. I can't concentrate on anything because eventually I think back to that day. And when I do, other memories inevitably start resurfacing, making me realise all the more that he's not coming back, that he won't be stopping by my office since he's no longer here to guide me or offer up advice."

Her eyes had lost their focus, staring at the wall behind him, concentrating on something he couldn't see or share, something from her past. Jane suspected Bosco had somehow served as a father figure to her, replacing the one she'd never really had, even if Bosco himself didn't look at her in quite the same way.

"He stopped guiding you a long time ago, Lisbon," Jane added softly. "He knew all along what you were capable of and that there would come a day you wouldn't need him anymore. You've created your success all on your own, and he could not have been prouder of that. You were his greatest achievement."

He saw unshed tears in her eyes, making them shine brightly as she tried hard to hide the effect his comforting words were having on her. She continued as if he hadn't spoken, determinedly looking down into her lap.

"So I just stay, as long as I can. Because at least I'm focused on my work here, and nothing else gets in the way. At home, I have far too much time to think." She let out a shaky laugh.

It pained him to know she stayed here just to feel safe, a feeling he understood all too well. That might've made him a hypocrite, but he didn't want her to be experiencing even a fraction of what he was going through.

Before he became fully conscious of what he was doing, he leaned forward and took her right hand in his, letting his thumb brush over her palm in a circular motion. He hadn't been exactly sure she'd let him even broach this subject, given that they'd had some sort of unspoken agreement between them not to mention certain things. He remembered all too clearly the last time she'd let her vulnerability show, she had kindly asked him to leave. He could still recall her standing in her living room, fighting tears, no longer the strong woman he was used to seeing and trying desperately to hide it.

He didn't want her to have to hide, not any aspect of herself, not around him.

"It'll get better." His voice was barely above a whisper but she nodded noncommittally in response. "I know that's just what everyone says even though no one actually believes it...but take it from someone who knows. It'll never go away, but it does get better."

She met his gaze, surprised at the subtle mention of his own grief, his own overwhelming sadness that still lingered inside him, resurfacing on a near daily basis. She wasn't used to him talking about his family, except when he casually mentioned it to someone clueless of his background, but it was never like this. He was showing real emotion now.

"You know," he lowered his voice, as if afraid to admit to or share this part him, "when I was in that mental hospital, there were times I didn't even see a way out. Especially in the beginning -"

"Jane, you think I don't know what you're doing?" she softly interrupted him. "You're not the only one being transparent here. Opening up about your own past so you'd get me to talk about mine? Or the problems you seem to think I'm having? Clever."

Her tone of voice wasn't accusatory. If anything, her delicate features softened imperceptibly, wanting to communicate that he didn't have to feel compelled to share this information with her just to make up for prying about Sam. However, frown lines appeared on his forehead and she detected an angry edge to his voice when he spoke.

"If I'm telling you something, it's because I want to. Because you're my friend. I mean it, Lisbon. This isn't all some cunning ruse thought up to lure you into showing me your 'inner soul'."

The air quotations and the face he made caused her to chuckle at his theatrics.

"This is me being here for you because I feel it might do you some good. If I'm talking about my own past, it's only because I genuinely want to, because I want you to know. Is that so hard to believe? Do I hope it'll make you share some things with me in turn? Of course, but the only reason being that I care. There are no ulterior motives here."

"You're not a shrink."

"And believe me, I wouldn't pretend to be. You know how much I hate those bastards."

She smirked, wondering what exactly had brought this on, if she'd really seemed so sad lately that he felt he had to stage an intervention. The thought of Jane standing in her doorway holding a huge banner with "intervention" written on it made her grin. Even more so when his brows furrowed in mild confusion, obviously not able to follow that particular train of thought.

She didn't let the smile fade, directing it at him instead. "I hope you're right, you know. About the getting better part."

He squeezed her hand before leaning back, arching an eyebrow. "Aren't I always?"

The comment brought forth another frustrated laugh and a shake of her head. Arrogance would probably always be his forte. No wonder Sam had always clashed with him, Lisbon mused.

Remembering another moment in her office between the three of them, she wondered if Jane's personality was the only reason Sam had disliked him so much. Sure, he hadn't approved of his methods in any way, but he'd also claimed on more than one occasion that she was simply too close to Jane. Combined with the consultant's remark about Bosco afterwards – however silly at the time – well, it had left her thinking. Wondering if their supposed closeness was maybe the main reason he'd had problems with Jane. The fact that he was sitting here in front of her because he'd felt she could use a friend was testimony that he did care. Even if she hadn't always been convinced of that in the past, there was no denying it now.

"I know you and Sam didn't always see eye to eye, but he was a good cop. A good man," she stressed.

"That he most certainly was. And you know, there'll come a day when you'll be able to think of all the good memories and you'll smile, without feeling that familiar ache."

Her cell phone started ringing, interrupting the quiet of her office with a shrill sound, startling both of them. He watched her closely as she reached for it, momentarily wondering if she'd seize the opportunity as an out. She could pretend she had some urgent business to attend to and use it as an escape route. Yet, she surprised him a second time by looking at the caller ID briefly and then turning it off. Well, guess he knew it wasn't work-related now.

"So," a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. "Does that mean it's my turn to ask a question now?"

Her determined look was challenging him to deny her this after he'd practically forced her into talking about what was on her mind. But despite her obvious discomfort when he'd walked in, not knowing what to expect or what he was playing at, she seemed a lot more at ease now. He probably owed her this pleasure and he figured he could always lie if he didn't like the presented question, yet somehow, he was having less trouble with the prospect of her questioning him than anticipated.

"Ok, what would you like to know?"

"Where do _you_ go when you're not here?"

"Next question," came his immediate reply. If the question had surprised him, it hadn't registered on his face.

Lisbon narrowed her eyes, studying him more closely for a second. She hadn't exactly expected him to be honest about everything but the question had seemed harmless enough. It was something that intrigued her; she was by no means as curious as him by nature, and she would never pry, but seeing as though he had presented her with the opportunity of posing questions, that particular one had immediately come to mind. She knew he didn't drive back to his own house except maybe on weekends, since it was too far away, but she had no idea where he spent his time when he wasn't here. Or what he did, for that matter. She couldn't exactly picture Jane inviting friends over, hosting a dinner party.

The object of her scrutinising gaze was currently staring back at her, keeping his features relaxed in an easy smile. He hadn't wanted to tell a lie, so instead he'd taken the cowardly road and just told her he didn't want to answer this one. He wasn't sure why he didn't share it with her. Maybe because he had always hoped that one day, he'd be strong enough to _show_ her where he went after hours.

"Alright," she remarked offhandedly, obviously having decided to let this one go for now. "But you can't veto two questions in a row, so you need to answer whatever's next."

"Oh, so now you're making up the rules?" he asked amusedly.

"For you, rules are there to be broken, hence I'm guessing it won't help much anyway," she retorted.

"Good point."

"How many hours of sleep do you usually get per night? And be honest."

He found it quite silly she thought he'd lie about something as trivial as that.

"Generally, about two or three. Four if I'm lucky."

And she thought she had trouble sleeping, Lisbon noted.

"I don't think I'd survive long on three hours of sleep per night," she mused, more to herself than as an answer.

"Well, most of the time I'm not exactly surviving. Though I know of a few people who'd argue that point."

He'd said it in such a deadpan voice, throwing her off course. She was one of the people who'd argue that point; she had done so in the past. Apparently, it had gotten her nowhere. There was a part of him she wasn't used to seeing, a darker side she was fortunate enough not to have come into contact with all that much up to now, but this answer bothered her. If he still hadn't found anything else worth living for, then her determination to prove him wrong wouldn't waiver. She was still hell-bent on changing his mind.

"If you're not surviving, then what are you doing? Just going through the motions for the fun of it?" Not bothering to disguise the annoyance in her voice at his response, she raised scowled at him.

"Ah ah, I believe it was my turn to ask a question," he reprimanded, wagging his finger at her and earning another aggravated look.

He pretended to think about it for a moment, when he'd really had the next one ready all along.

"When's the last time you went on a date?"

"Next question," she mimicked his earlier words easily, but wasn't able to prevent a faint blush from colouring her cheeks.

Jane paused to ponder her reaction, cocking his head to the side. He hadn't meant for the question to embarrass her. He was honestly curious, mostly for selfish reasons he didn't care to delve into too much, but her refusal to answer told him all he needed to know.

"How come you will never let yourself get too close to someone? Or something, for that matter?"

Different emotions crossed her face in rapid succession. Jane saw suspicion, followed by doubt and a little frustration.

"You're such a cheater! You knew I was going to want to skip this one," she replied, crossing her arms again.

"Hmm, unfortunately, I'm afraid you can't. The rules clearly state that you're not allowed to veto two questions in a row. And they're your rules; you wouldn't want to break them, now would you?"

The wicked glint in his eyes told her she'd been correct in her assessment.

"Oh, since when do you play by the rules?" she huffed. "Besides, who says I'm not close to people, huh? As if you're such an open book, willing to share all your emotions with the world, Mr. Kumbaya. I could very well ask you the same thing."

"Then I suggest you save that for your next question."

"Wise-ass," she muttered, features settling into acceptance. "And what did you mean by someone or 'something'?"

"Well, the unpacked boxes in your apartment come to mind. It's as if you just moved in, yet you've been living there for a few years now, if I remember correctly. You won't let yourself get attached to anything."

"I get attached to my boxes. I'd miss them if they were gone," she joked.

He raised one eyebrow, urging her to go on with an actual answer.

She heaved a sigh before formulating a proper response.

"Being close to a person means giving up control, letting them see all of you, even the parts of yourself you're not all that proud of. And experience has taught me that ultimately, the only one I can truly count on is myself. So to save me a lot of disappointment and maybe even heartbreak, I'll put an end to it before it gets out of hand. I know that makes me seem like a coward, but it's self-preservation, really."

Her honest, heartfelt reply gave him pause. He waited to see if she would go on, but Lisbon didn't seem too keen on elaborating. She'd already divulged more than she would under normal circumstances.

"Well, I hope there'll come a time when you won't mind relinquishing that control," he said earnestly.

In all honesty, he found it quite sad that she thought no one would ever be able to earn her complete trust. Where did you get in life if you never took a chance, followed your heart instead of your head, stopped thinking rationally for once?

Then again, who was he to judge her? He'd been hanging on to his past for dear life, under the pretence of seeking revenge simply because it was easier that way. It prevented him from truly having to move on, from dealing with his past and taking that very same leap of faith he wanted Lisbon to take some day. And sure, vengeance had been his true conviction at first. But what about after? What happened after he got his revenge?

As if she'd been reading his mind, she leaned forward, resting her chin in her left hand. "What happens after Red John?"

Her words were barely audible, a soft whisper that carried through the air, but the question hit as if she'd been shouting in his ear. was waiting patiently, hoping for an explanation he was unable to provide. Her inquisitive green eyes gave away nothing of what she was thinking. Sometimes, especially when it came to her, it would do him some good to be an actual mind-reader. To know her exact thoughts at a time like this would definitely be an asset.

He sighed and decided to answer her honestly, "I don't know."

There had been times in the past when Lisbon would've seized this opportunity to make him see her side, try and convince him yet again that the only sensible course of action would be to let justice do its work and have Red John be punished for what he did, without losing Jane in the process. But she'd given up on making her point known; he already knew where she stood on the whole thing. And if he thought Bosco dying at Red John's murderous hand would change her opinion, he was sadly mistaken. It had affected her in a life-altering way, but not to the point of changing what she believed in, her moral values. In the end, she would never be okay with Jane acting as if he was above the law. And a little part of her still believed she would be able to change his mind in time, before it was too late.

He shrugged, smiling a little apologetically. "I wish I did, I really do."

"You could've just skipped the question," she quipped, hoping to inject some levity back into the conversation.

He chuckled, avoiding her gaze. "The truth is, I don't have a real plan. Not until I'm sure of whom I'm up against. I told you before what my intentions are when we finally do catch him, though. And we will, I'm sure of that."

The sudden familiar determination in his voice sent a chill through her, making her wish she hadn't asked that particular question.

"However," he went on, "what happens once it's over has never occupied my mind. Not until recently, anyway. I've found that I'm thinking about the after part a lot more than I used to."

His eyes were trained on hers as he said this, gauging her reaction, convinced that in that particular moment, she wished she could read his mind just as badly.

_You've been holding on so long_

_Trying to make believe that nothing's wrong_

It wasn't until her phone beeped for the second time that night, signalling a received text message, that she happened to glance at the little clock in the top right corner of the screen.

"Oh God, it's almost 2am," she said with a groan, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

Sometime during the evening, they'd raided the fridge in search of desserts and had moved to the couch in her office, both sitting on opposite ends. Lisbon nestled comfortably with her legs tucked beneath her, finishing off the wine, feeling more relaxed than she had in a long time. They'd shared more questions, trading answers back and forth, though they'd moved on to lighter, more trivial subjects eventually.

As she threw her cell back on the table in front of her, he caught sight of the large bruise on her arm that was finally beginning to fade. He reached out, scooting closer and gently grasping her elbow to graze his thumb over the sore spot affectionately.

Lisbon sat perfectly still, staring at his hand in an almost trance-like state, afraid that if she moved, this spell would be broken. He tenderly stroked the now purplish spot on the inside of her arm with his fingertip, igniting little sparks all over her body that she tried hard to ignore.

"I didn't like it when you threw yourself at that guy," he admitted, remembering the way she'd deliberately thrown herself at the suspect, tackling him to the ground. A suspect who, at 210 pounds, had been about three times her size.

She looked up to catch his expression, but his face gave nothing away.

"I'm a cop; that's my job," she softly reminded him. "And I told you, I knew the gun he was pointing at me wasn't loaded. There wasn't any real danger," she explained.

"I know," he met her gaze before repeating, "but I didn't like it."

A smile formed on her lips upon hearing this little confession. She knew he probably cared for her more than he let on, although she wasn't at all used to him admitting it.

She tried in vain to stifle a yawn.

He looked at her phone on the table and was reminded of the late hour, knowing that he'd need to store the rest of his questions away for next time. Because looking at her told him she desperately needed some rest. He realised he didn't even know if there'd be a next time, though he wouldn't mind spending another couple of nights with her like this, and that realisation stirred something deep inside him.

He'd filed away all her answers into neat little compartments in his mind, adding them to his Lisbon collection for future reference, pleased to have gotten to know her just a little better. His mission had been accomplished; at least she had started to open up to him. Even if it was only reluctantly and slowly, it was a sign that she wasn't completely unwilling to let him in.

"Right," he stood up, "that's my cue. I had no idea it was this late; time flies. You should get home."

She rose out of her seat as well, stretching as she absentmindedly ran a hand through her curls.

On impulse, he took her hand, pulling her towards him. For a fleeting moment, there was a flash of apprehension in her eyes, not quite sure of what to expect. But to be honest, he'd been improvising, so he was just as clueless of where this was leading, not having decided what his next move was going to be.

Having her this close to him made it easy to forget everything and just let go for once. To forget the past and not have to think about anything but just let himself feel, be wrapped up in her scent which was quickly becoming all too familiar.

But her brow furrowed with concern as his silence stretched on, effectively ending his reverie. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her, settling for a friendly and comforting hug instead. Lisbon froze on the spot, standing awkwardly at first, seemingly undecided of what an appropriate response would be, but Jane didn't let go.

With her, he knew it was all about giving her time to adjust. Sure enough, he eventually felt her melt into his arms as she gave in to the embrace, hands slowly sneaking up his back to rest on his shoulders.

They stood motionless for a little while, neither of them wanting to break apart just yet. Lisbon made sure to commit this particular moment to memory, revelling in how nice it felt to have his arms wrapped protectively around her. Maybe a little ironic too, since she was usually the one having to protect him from all sorts of danger. Or from himself, for that matter.

She could get used to seeing this side of him, when he was less guarded, less playing a part and trying to cover up his true feelings.

Suddenly her soft voice broke their silence.

"Thank you."

He gave her a final squeeze and gently released his hold on her. "For this, I mean," she added, gesturing to the remnants of the food and wine.

"Anytime, Lisbon. I hope you know that."

She nodded while tucking a loose strand of hair away, suddenly very interested in the floor, shy under his sincere gaze.

He cleared his throat and started for the door. "Well, I should probably..."

"Yea, sure. I'll finish up here and then I'm heading home too." She walked back to her desk and he turned around in the doorway.

"Good night."

"Yep, I'll see you Monday."

She started throwing things into the paper bin when she made a split decision and called out, "Jane!"

"Yea?" He poked his head around the door.

"Next Friday...," she started, somewhat hesitantly. "Same time, same place?"

The trademark smile that she'd come to love lit up his entire face, beaming back at her and making her visibly relax.

"Excellent. I'll bring Italian food."

And with that, he disappeared around the corner, the sound of her laughter following close behind, floating through the empty hallway.

As much as she hated to admit it, he'd been right as usual. Of course he wasn't a shrink, but she'd come to understand that bottling things up inside was never the best solution. As much as she was generally opposed to sharing personal things, she much preferred talking to him than to anyone else. Despite her earlier confession about not letting people get too close, she often feared that she'd already let him in too far. But she did trust him.

And they were friends...in their own dysfunctional way at least.

_-xxx-_


End file.
